Pit (BTS Fan Fiction)
by FredericBlanc
Summary: Emptiness came unforgiving. Turned knives of guilt and fear at him. Because he had this condition, he had all these things, and he had that mask. But Jung Hoseok was as human as any could be. (or: basically Hoseok making his mixtape and couldn't help contemplating.) [platonic YoongixHoseok/Yoonseok/Sope, oneshot, canon compliant]


Hoseok woke up to the coldness in his feet. Opening his eyes to the darkness. Inhaling to the dryness.

There was no comfort in any form, but he did not move. Despite his fingertips feeling numb. Despite the ache in his waist.

He was awake from no dream. From the emptiness in his sleep. From the fatigue of practice, all the events memorable throughout his life.

From the pit within his mind after.

Meeting the undescribable void, he got up and clicked the lights alive. Realized something belatedly. Who turned off the lights? Hoseok never did if he had planned to continue working. He rubbed his forehead, brushing back red wine hair. Wiping away the frazzle and drowsiness in his eyes, he seated himself before the monitor, finding it turned off. A note was stuck on the right top corner.

 _Sleep early. You've worked hard._

Seven years and still counting, living with the boys, no doubt that they could recognize one another's handwritings. The mockings on Taehyung's scribble, all the argues that resulted a final decision that none of them had a decent handwriting, how could he forget? He took a close look to the small note, and thought: definitely Yoongi's handwriting.

It came fleeting—the thought of having worked hard and taking a rest in compensation. Going home. Sleeping early. But he had taken a nap. The years-old drafts were waiting. His fans were waiting.

He himself was, too. He wanted to finish it soon, to get satisfactory result and feedbacks. To finally feel that he was indeed capable in what he was doing, that this fame they were gaining was not for stagnancy in skills. He wanted to safely allow himself to recognize his own improvement.

It just took a long way. One that he couldn't bear to avoid—because he knew, he could always do much more. He wanted to show his potential at its outmost, closing every space of incompetence and half-ins. He wanted no regrets to come years later.

So he sighed, turning on the computer. This was how he had been. Like how any other diligent artists were. They were no genius—they need hard work to fill it in.

He patted himself in the shoulder. _Fighting_.

Eyes heavy, Hoseok tried to recall his last progress. That one track. _Ah._ He needed to finish the ending. The rest needed to be carefully examined again. He would need to ask the producers. And recording—

Making a mental to-do-list, he could already imagine how little sleep he was getting.

 _It's fine._ He's going to be fine.

Hoseok played an unfinished track, closing his eyes, straining his ears. Listening to the melodies. Watching the progression and transitions.

Here he was, creating songs he wanted, having his own studio, with no more financial worries. His past was way behind him. His passion was the one remaining. His gratefulness was the one growing. But there were no guarantees ahead. No certainty.

Hoseok entered a state of awareness for the few times in his life where he realized that he was living a different life. The self-consciousness had him wondering. A person in his position, labeled with fame, being known for what he loves to do; what was he supposed to feel? What was he supposed to do?

He came from a long way. He came from a sea storm. He went through the struggles with hard work. But he came with good company—the one as close as family.

Now he wondered, what was the point of the past? What was the point of the present? Why should he worry back then, why should he be happy now?

It was a cruel thinking, he realized. But this was how he felt, this was where his mind had taken him to.

Fingers swinging a pen, Hoseok seeped in the silence. How should he continue this track? If he gave a bad or open ending, the song definitely wouldn't be approved. Should he continue? If yes, how?

He eventually left it, opening another file.

.

* * *

.

It was early at dawn. The wind was mercilessly cold. Rustling leaves on the streetside trees were dancing in rush.

December. Busy schedule. End of year events. Summing up the past year. Reflecting on themselves. Planning things for the folowing year.

Another year was about to pass, and they still had many things to do.

 _It's a good thing,_ Hoseok reminded himself, _it's good to be busy._

His nose flushed from the kiss of the cold air. Every breath he took was stinging. Too dry. His eyelids were falling, in need of bed and blanket. Fixing his cap, Hoseok fastened his careful walk back to the dorm.

Indifferent, the dorm welcomed him with cold air. Taking off his shoes, he walked towards the kitchen, drinking warm water from the dispenser. Entering his bedroom, he found Jungkook lying in his bed. He sighed. Being busy-minded, sharing a bed was something he didn't quite wish. But he could just kick Jungkook to the corner of the bed and the boy wouldn't mind it in the least. That is, if Hoseok still had the energy.

Hoseok managed to bring himself to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He also managed to finish without collapsing to sleep.

In the midst of his sleep-deprived state of mind, he heard someone calling his name. Thinking it was him in the verge of unconsciousness, he ignored.

"Hoseok- _ie_?"

Oh. It was real.

Hoseok turned his head, finding a blond messy hair and eyes as sleepy as his. "Oh, _hyung_."

"Just came home?"

 _Home._ The word got Hoseok thinking again despite his cloudy state. Home was his family in Gwangju. But he had another one, here. A place he belonged to.

"Yeah. Home."

But, what was belong to supposed to mean?

Yoongi looked at Hoseok's occupied bed. "You're going to sleep here?"

Hoseok shrugged.

"Just use my bed. I'm about to work now."

The younger squinted. "Thanks."

They walked to Yoongi and Jin's shared room. Yoongi turned on the lights in his part of the room. He threw a blindfold at Hoseok, indicating that he would keep the lights on. Hoseok put it on and threw himself to the bed, sighing in relief.

The silence was filled with Yoongi's movements. The sound of them kept Hoseok's ears busy.

The young man raised his blindfold and stared at Yoongi's back. Watching Yoongi plugging in one earphone to an ear. Yoongi suddenly turned to him.

"You may not get much, but go to sleep," he advised, "it's a busy day ahead."

Hoseok stared. "You're one to say."

"I've got enough sleep."

Both stayed still—except that Yoongi was examining the younger.

"What's bugging you?"

A knowing tone that Hoseok truly appreciated from this _hyung_ of his. He did not reply and stated instead, " _Hyung_ , it's the end of the year."

Yoongi folded his arms.

"We went through a lot this year."

"It's really an eventful year," The older agreed.

Billboard, American Music Awards, collaborations with great artists, an UNICEF campaign, two _daesang_ s. A broad leap no one had expected.

Hoseok said, "I don't know what to feel."

The sky poured. Slowly accelerating. Filling the silence with a soft noise.

The bed dipped. Yoongi seated himself beside Hoseok, accompanying him in a way only Yoongi could.

Hoseok sighed. Was it a company that he's longing for? Is it the thing that can fill the hole in his soul?

And the emptiness returned. The pit went on. It filled his chest, pulling him down.

Hoseok wept.

What was it that feels so cruel? What was it that he's crying for?

Yoongi couldn't see his thoughts, and he had no way of knowing. But he knew. Just from the sight, just from the small gesture, he knew. He gently squeezed Hoseok's arms.

Thousands. There were thousands, millions of reasons for Hoseok to live the present. To not fear the future. To abandon the past. To accept who he was, who he had been, who he would be. To love himself.

He had great people around. He could buy anything he wanted. He had passion in his job. He had a professionalism that came naturally with him. He was living a good life.

But, had he his purpose?

If he had no purpose, what would he live for?

"Hoseok."

Those fingers reached his hair. Stroking the red strands. Warm against his forehead.

"Don't be afraid of what you're thinking," The voice was low, tender, comforting. "You're as human as anyone can be."

A human. A normal human, always seeking. What was it that he's looking for?

"I accept you."

Was it acceptance? Was it to be accepted that he was just a human being after all?

It was not, but it dropped a warm tinge of colour to his dusky mind, and Hoseok had two choices: to continue wandering pointlessly or to settle in the moment.

Hoseok chose to settle. In the sheltering warmth Yoongi served, with the condition he had now.

As Hoseok snuggled closer, Yoongi smiled.

"You're fine, Hoseok. You are."


End file.
